


Desperation

by cleighc



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Broken Statute of Secrecy, F/M, Prison Heist, Time Travel, Totalitarian Muggle Government
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-07 09:26:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15905502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleighc/pseuds/cleighc
Summary: AU: Repeated Death Eater attacks on muggle communities, compounded with a harsh backlash to the Muggleborn Registration Commission and the subsequent incarceration of muggles and muggleborns, broke the Statute of Secrecy beyond repair. The muggle government was forced to react in order to protect their populace, which has resulted in a totalitarian approach towards magical peoples. Draco and Hermione are determined to travel back in time in order to protect the statute, but time is not easily altered.





	1. Escape

**Author's Note:**

> This is just an idea... let me know if you think it has potential? As a general disclaimer, I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters.

**Chapter 1: Escape**

* * *

 “Desperate ills need desperate remedies.”

- _Agatha Christie_

* * *

 Their clandestine meeting occurred under the cloak of darkness at the edge of an internment camp, a live electric wire fence between them. The man shivered violently, both from nerves and overexposure to the rapidly cooling autumn night, which his thin, standard-issued shirt and pants did little to protect him from. He grinded his teeth to stop them from chattering, but the resulting tension made his head pound.

He clenched his fists until his knuckles were white.

Two decades of practice using Occulmency could not prevent his thoughts from being consumed with anxiety and paranoia; he had witnessed too many of his comrades torn apart via firing squad for attempting to escape. Still, he had the presence of mind to scoff at himself for his weakness. He was supposed to be better than this.

The heavily bundled woman was equally anxious, visible from the way she worried her bottom lip with her teeth, and the lines of exhaustion and tension that were etched into her forehead. She was quiet, though, and for that the man was thankful.

It was a miracle he had gotten this far. And his overwrought nerves reminded him that his luck was due to turn, and one wrong move would guarantee a vicious death for both of them.

But the string of miracles continued. One moment the air between them was alive with the buzz of electricity, and the next an almost unnatural silence replaced the ever-present hum, and the blinding artificial florescent lighting illuminating the courtyard behind him went out. The woman wasted no time in the darkness cutting the wire with heavy metal clippers, before she roughly pulled him through the severed space. She then wasted precious seconds unbuttoning a heavy man’s cloak from her body and handing it to him. Despite his fear, the man was thankful, as his body gradually stopped its violent shuddering.

They took off into the night, stumbling in the darkness over the uneven forest floor.

They both felt better the farther away they were from the camp. The muggles who had suggested burying radioactive focal points under the internment camps in order to destabilize their magical control had underestimated the damage it would do to their cores. Insanity was not unheard of, although pain, aches, depression, and anxiety was more common. As were a variety of other symptoms. Nausea, insomnia, fevers.

 _Negligible side-effects_ , it was argued to assuage human rights activists. The man had sneered when he heard their reasoning. What right did politicians have to standardize and benchmark suffering? For the many faults he could list of the Ministry of Magic, the muggle government took their inclination towards censorship, surveillance, and incarceration, as well as an unsettling ability to justify inhumane acts towards politically determined _non-humans_ , to frightening new heights.

The man was intelligent enough to understand that his situation was accomplished through well-executed propaganda. Instituted by political parties and forwarded by a stunning variety of muggle media sources (that all seemed to adopt Rita Skeeter’s predisposition towards sensationalism), they claimed he was dangerous and volatile, ethnocentric to the point of homicide. While certainly true of a number of his dead relatives, he was somewhat stunned to see how little this gross over-generalization was questioned by the public. There were _children_ in these camps. How was that in any way justifiable?

Simply put, it wasn’t.

They had traveled some 3000 meters before the woman felt well enough to dig a wand clumsily out of a worn, beaded bag. She clutched his hand with no hesitation, preparing to apparate, and the man couldn’t decide where to center his attention. It had been years since he had seen a wand, and the urge to grab it, to feel even a twinge of magic course through his limbs and torso, was powerful. But the warmth and solidity of her hand- the man was surprised to feel as comforted as he did by her touch. Here was a sense of heat and comradery and purpose… His grip tightened, and he could see the empathy in her eyes right before the world around them disappeared.

They apparated into another forest, and the woman waited patiently as the man fell to his knees and dry-heaved. It had been some time since he traveled using magical means, and the lingering nausea exacerbated his body’s reaction.

He spent several minutes getting his bearings, and then he immediately became all business, wanting to draw as little attention to his embarrassment as possible. “You were able to get it?”

The woman rolled her eyes at his skepticism, but nevertheless grabbed a long chain from around her neck and displayed the homemade time-turner. She glanced over his dirty, threadbare excuse for clothing. “Were you able to get what you needed?”

The man held up the modified 9 mm semi-automatic handgun, which he had tucked into his loose pants, his face carefully blank.

They didn’t ask each other how they had obtained said items. They were old enough now to understand that some inquiries were best left unmade, and sharing burdens for the sake of their sanity was best done discriminately.

As they walked towards the forest edge, paranoia crept back into man, and he found himself verbally expressing his doubt in their plans. “Are you absolutely certain we need a sounding board? Wouldn’t it be better to simply initiate change to past events ourselves?”

The woman shook her head. “We can’t know for certain the effect that certain actions will have on the timeline. While I am nearly certain we altered the time-turner enough to allow for major changes instead of a loop, for all we know our interference could result in an even worse outcome.”

The man snorted in disbelief. “What could possibly be worse than what we already experienced?”

Her expression was cold as she stated the truth in a matter-of-fact manner. “Total annihilation.”

The man’s eyes widened in horror as his body froze. “They wouldn’t?”

She gave him a hard look, and he pursed in lips and furrowed his brow as he acknowledged that possibility.

“But surely removing the Dark Lord before his rise to power would be a better option than attempting to reason with the man? You weren’t there after he reclaimed a body, Granger. Mentally unstable doesn’t begin to cover it.”

She frowned. “The way I understand it, Riddle took advantage of the dissent among Pureblood families in order to accumulate power. There is no guarantee that without him in the picture, someone else won’t shoehorn into that position. Which, according to my arithmetic calculations, could have devastating consequences on the wizarding world.”

“But we don’t know for sure. You already admitted that it is almost impossible to predict because you don’t know who would head this operation. This could all simply be conjecture.”

“Which is why we need a sounding board.”

The man tried not to let his cynicism show, but it was incredibly difficult. “And you know who to approach?”

“Don’t you?”

His eyes narrowed in frustration. “No. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be asking.”

She gave him a disgruntled look. “Your godfather. For Merlin’s sake, Malfoy.”

“Severus?”

“Surely you can see the merits?”

“Well, I mean, of course. I’m just surprised you didn’t suggest Dumbledore.”

She bit her lip in consternation as they walked up to the castle ruins. “Dumbledore has a very specific… vision about the future and the way he thinks things need to go. My intuition tells me he would see us as a threat.”

“I see.”

There were several minutes of silence as the man tried to remember everything he could about his previous headmaster, attempting to find evidence for her reasoning. It was difficult. His sixth year exempted, he had very little contact with the man.

His voice, when he did eventually speak up, was hesitant. “Are you suggesting the man was… some kind of master manipulator?” His tone was rife with disbelief.

The woman looked at him with an eyebrow raised. “You know he plotted his own death months beforehand, right? He forcibly maneuvered his way into martyrdom.”

“Manipulating a single event is hardly impressive. Not when you have direct control over a number of the pieces.”

“Which inherently requires its own manner of manipulation. Yes?”

“He took advantage of several key players when they were at their most vulnerable. And exploited them ruthlessly afterwards. Which I suppose is indicative of machinations, but the level of control you seem to be implying is far more extensive.”

The woman nodded. “Decades in the making.”

“Where is your proof?”

“Hm. Well, what about Harry? Do you think it was a coincidence that he happened to grow up in an abusive muggle environment that left him ostracized, deprived of a real family, and ensured he had little to no respect of authority? And he just happened to bump into the Weasleys, a _magical_ family on the _muggle_ side of the barrier, that represented the family Harry always wished he had, and were coincidentally appropriately Gryffindor and already in the Headmaster’s pockets?”

“I thought he stayed with his muggle relatives because of the blood wards?”

The woman looked surprised. “He talked to you about this?”

The man sighed. “We talked briefly after the war, yes.”

“Hm. Well, to answer your question, blood wards did offer him some protection. But how necessary was this safeguard after Voldemort initially disappeared and all of his most faithful followers were locked up in Azkaban? Wouldn’t other wards have been entirely adequate in its place?”

“I suppose.”

She repeated his response with exasperation and aggravation. “You _suppose_.”

“I mean, I can hardly account for all of the variables at play. I wasn’t there.”

“There is no reason to excuse abuse. No matter how _convenient_.”

He recognized the growing tantrum, despite the academic nature of their disagreement, and held up his hands in surrender. He had long ago disabused himself of the notion that he would ever be able to understand the female mind. “Hey, now. No need to get snippy.”

She sighed out an apology, and the man could literally hear her exhaustion. “Sorry Draco. The last few weeks have been… rough.”

He nodded, and reached out to pat her shoulder awkwardly in reassurance. “I understand. So, Severus?”

She smiled at him in gratitude, and he could feel something in his chest warm at the sight. “Mmhm.”

They walked around the shattered wall of the overgrown greenhouse, broken pieces of glass and metal reflecting light from the waning moon. She stopped them, and started to nervously babble as she drew the delicate chain around both of their necks. “So, we are limited on the number of turns possible due to limitations inherent within the altered construction. Although it was designed to jump years, with the amount of sand at our disposal, it would be dangerous to push two decades. Our initial attempt is going to be fifteen years, from 2010 to 1995.”

He nodded for her comfort, as he was already aware of how far their initial jump was going to be.

His last thoughts before the colors and sound swirled around them in an ever-turning kaleidoscope was some overly romantic drivel about the lovely color of her eyes. Like warm caramel inside a chocolate truffle. He couldn’t help but drown in a familiar rush of warmth intermitted with self-disgust and self-pity. But as he braced himself against her body, inwardly fighting growing nerves, he could appreciate the distraction of her presence.

* * *

To be continued...

 


	2. Hostage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus is informed.

**Chapter 2: Hostage**

* * *

"Life begins on the other side of despair."

_-Jean-Paul Sartre_

* * *

 

Severus Snape was in a particularly foul mood, appropriately demonstrated with a dark scowl contorting his features and an angry too-brisk stride. His situation at the moment felt like some kind of cosmic injustice- every element in his life capable of pulling his strings and wreaking havoc unknowingly collaborated, as he was barraged on all sides at the same time.

The Dark Lord demanded constant updates on the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Make-His-Life-Miserable, and was more amenable to deliver Unforgiveables in response to the smallest perceived slight than ever before.

Albus celebrated the loss of mental acuity and reasonable decision-making skills in his former charge with glee, but _he_ didn’t have to defend himself against the growing delusions and paranoia. He also wasn’t overly compassionate to the long-term effects of routine torture, justifying the treatment with a sense of self-righteousness befitting a Gryffindor.

In fact, the Headmaster added to Severus’ current stress levels. His other master was unhelpfully absent, content to give him vague directives and demand that he pardon intolerable offenses.

Severus couldn’t help but feel bitter at the circumstances.

And his work life was hardly any better.

The damnable Weasley twins had turned his classrooms upside down as a disturbing number of students from one House in particular randomly became violently ill in the middle of class. The blood and the vomit alone, projected on top of work tables and the aged stone floor, were cause for his displeasure, but the distraction to the other students made it an unpardonable offense. Did no one understand the potentially lethal consequences to an unmonitored potion? Were the idiots so eager to end their pathetic existence?

The prissy, contemptible Dolores Umbridge continued to disrupt his classrooms with offensive noises and ignorant criticisms, disrupt staff meetings with pathetic ploys to assert her authority in a room full of older and more experienced faculty members, and disrupt the homeostasis of his House by disallowing Quidditch.

How else were his young charges supposed to expel their aggression or institute their little power plays if not through sport or chaperoned duels? Unsanctioned magic in the corridors and thus detentions were at an all-time high, which, contrary to the opinion of their newest staff member, was not a reason for celebration. The faculty needed time for grading and lesson planning, as well as the opportunity to conduct individualized research. Not that Ms. Umbridge could ever be accused of properly observing the habits of an academic…

And in any case, the very purpose of punishment was to act as a negative reinforcement in order to discourage certain behaviors. The fact that more punishments were required, especially among repeat offenders, implied that the children were not learning to change their behavior. Which completely negated the purpose of the punishment.

Which just further illustrated the idiocy currently employed by that pathetic sycophant of a woman.

And the utter misfortune that necessitated he curb his natural inclination to verbally eviscerate her.

A pity, to be sure.

As the stress of the semester continued to rise, Severus occupied his time patrolling corridors long into the night, attempting to unwind enough to allow for at least a few hours of rest.

“Mister Smith! For Merlin’s sake, boy, button up your trousers. Twenty points from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff for that disgusting display.”

Catching students out of bed did little to buoy his mood, but he could admit to some vindictive pleasure at sharing his misery with the happy-go-lucky student population.

“Mister Finnegan. Returning from the kitchens, are we? I’m afraid those snacks will need to be confiscated. And fifteen points from Gryffindor. Now, shoo. Back to your dormitory. Unless you would like to make it twenty?”

It was several hours before he made it back to the portrait in front of his private rooms, feet throbbing and back aching in exhaustion. He planned to take a headache potion and pass out on his bed, but stopped in front of the passage abruptly.

Something wasn’t right. He could sense someone just there. He made to turn, wand already clutched in his hand, before-

A piece of metal nudged the side of his head, and he heard the unfamiliar click of an engaged firearm. Severus froze. Growing up in Cokeworth, he knew the sound well enough to recognize it, even if he had never experienced this situation himself. But at Hogwarts? The improbability made him falter.

Another person came out from a behind, and an infinitely more familiar threat in the form of a wand shoved into his jugular made itself known.

“Severus Snape.” In the darkness of the corridor, he could barely make out a matted head of curls above determined, steely eyes.

Severus waited to respond, his mind whirling. He was intelligent enough to understand that this was not the opportune moment for retaliation. He needed information. The opportunity to alert one of the faculty. A moment for them to be caught off guard before he struck…

“Perhaps this conversation would best take place in your sitting room? If you wouldn’t mind?”

Severus could feel his eyes narrow. The woman’s request was rather polite, considering their method of approach. He considered their motives as he bit back his natural tendency towards acerbic sarcasm. He was hardly in the position to disagree. Instead, he gave her a short, surly nod and opened the passageway into his quarters.

They followed him inside, careful to maintain the placement of their weapons on his body.

As soon as they entered the dim light of the sitting room, a flick of a wand too close to his neck summoned his wand, and Severus let it go with a calculating frown. Certainly a smart move under normal circumstances, but unnecessary. Clearly, they didn’t know him well; he was rather adept at wandless magic. Wouldn’t do to tip his hand, however. In fact, this could present just enough of an advantage to regain control of the situation-

“He is perfectly capable of cursing you wandlessly, you know.” The voice that interrupted his thought process was rusty from disuse, but that did little to detract from an aristocratic drawl that resonated with clear masculine overtones.

Well, bugger. There went any element of surprise.

The woman in front of him let out an aggravated sigh. “Shut up Malfoy.”

Severus startled slightly from the name, and attempted to piece together the _how_ and _why_ necessary for Lucius to be in the position of threatening him in the castle with a muggle weapon. But he was coming up blank. He needed more information. So he employed deductive reasoning as he watched the woman flick fire into his fireplace, which bathed the room in a warm light.

She seemed vaguely recognizable. Something about the placement of freckles outlined by unruly curls pulled at his brain, but the clear lines of stress and her gaunt appearance stole away any clear resemblance. Instead he focused on the clean, but worn state of her muggle clothing, as well as the mud and branches clinging to her feet and hair.

The coordination of her ensemble would suggest muggle parentage. The state of her clothes seemed to suggest she arrived at the castle through the Forbidden Forest. The tremor in her fingers spoke of trauma, the number of layers included in her wardrobe in the beginning of autumn hinted at either poor circulation or a low self-esteem, and the stern set of her mouth and hard eyes demonstrated years of hard decisions.

Or perhaps he was simply projecting.

Still, how did a Muggleborn witch get mixed up in this situation with Lucius Malfoy?

In return, she seemed to inspect him just as thoroughly, her small mouth pursed in curiosity and careful consideration. Severus looked for the usual signs of derision, disgust, fear, or intimidation, but her expression was surprising hard to read. Finally, she turned to the man behind him, and sent an exasperated look.

“Is the gun really necessary?”

The tone of the man’s response was petulant and familiar. “How else were we supposed to enter his quarters?”

“I agree that attempting to break his wards was a bad idea. But do you _still_ need to point it at his head?”

The man was defensive. “We don’t know how he will respond.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed as she frowned. “Probably not well if he continues to feel _threatened_.”

The man let out a sound of aggravation, before Severus felt the metal leave his head. “Fine. But don’t blame me if we are incapacitated and sent to the Headmaster, and your whole plan goes to shite.”

The man rounded Severus, who felt his body tense when his attacker finally came into sight. Definitely not Lucius, whom he saw just last week. This man’s blond hair was buzzed short, his clothing hung loosely on an emaciated frame, and a set of silver scars peeked out behind sleeves and a low collar. The clothing just visible from behind a worn cloak was nondescript, thin and dirty, but clearly muggle in origin.

Still, the set of calculating grey eyes was distinctly familiar, and Severus felt his brow furrow in confusion.

The man sent Severus a self-deprecating grin, although his gaze remained somehow unyielding. “What’s wrong, Severus? Can’t recognize your own godson?”

Severus’ frown deepened, and his muscles tensed as he tried to determine if the man was still a threat. “Draco?”

The man’s grin twisted unpleasantly, pulling at his lightly wrinkled face. “At your service.”

A beat of silence as Severus attempted to wrap his mind around this, and then he inclined his head towards the woman to buy himself some time- “And that is?”

“Granger! Say hello.”

Hermione Granger? Severus reevaluated the woman as she gave them both an unamused look. Sighing again in aggravation, she settled herself in an armchair, and he found the pieces of her that were recognizable. The challenging tilt of her chin, the sprinkle of freckles just above the bridge of her nose, the terse way she wrung her hands in her lap. He also found that his nerves were somewhat assuaged from her presence. Based on what little he knew of her, it seemed unlikely that she would be involved in an assassination attempt.

“Why are you here?”

There really wasn’t anything else to say.

“We’re from the future,” his godson felt it necessary to add, and Severus sent the man a sneer for stating the obvious.

He turned to Granger and sat down on the worn armchair opposite hers. He repeated his question. “Why are you here?”

Thank Circe, the woman got right to business. “We need a sounding board. There are things in the timeline we need to fix, and we are not entirely sure how to go about making changes.”

Severus stared at her for a moment. “But time operates on a loop. Which would suggest that nothing you change here will ultimately have any impact on the future.”

She was quick to correct him. “The time turner I created allows for changes that create divergent timelines.”

He frowned as he considered that possibility. And then the downward tilt of his lips deepened as he was forced to deliberate the context. “What happened that necessitates such an extreme intervention? Does the Dark Lord win the war?”

Draco snorted, looking darkly amused. “No. Saintly Potter manages to defeat him by the end of our seventh year.”

“Then what happened?”

Granger’s mouth settles into a hard line. “The Statute of Secrecy was no longer in effect, and the muggle government was forced to demonstrate… control over a previously unknown, potentially dangerous population.”

Severus took a sharp intake of breath through clenched teeth in surprise. “What happened to the Statute of Secrecy?”

Granger took a deep, steadying breath. “It dissolved for a number of reasons. Riddle instigated too many muggle raids and coordinated attacks on muggle families. There were only so many terrorist attacks the government could explain away before conspiracy theorists led concerned citizens to pick holes in the media coverage and concentrate on the lack of response. Additionally, in 1996 the Ministry of Magic passed the Muggle Born Registration Commission. It started out as a legal form of discrimination and sanctioned harassment that later led to incarceration, torture, and genocide. There was a backlash from the muggles and muggleborns who fell victim to that legislation after the war. Particularly the parents of muggleborn students. What started as a campaign to prevent future muggleborns from attending school at a magical institution soon led to petitions to the muggle government to intercede on their behalf. When that didn’t work, they turned to the media, which is what served to break the statute. The Ministry couldn’t obliviate people fast enough. The muggle government was eventually forced to investigate, and after they were convinced that the Ministry of Magic was incapable of successful government, felt it their responsibility to intercede.”

Severus considered this. “There is no way the magical community simply accepted their intervention.”

Granger let out a harsh laugh. “Merlin, no. There were weeks of conflict, which the muggle government used to support their claims about the danger of wizarding folk and justify their extreme methods.”

“You were overpowered?”

Granger nodded. “Easily. Particularly after scientists were approached to attempt to make sense of magic, which was discovered to exist as a form of energy among particular frequencies. Experiments were conducted, and it was soon revealed that contact with radioactive materials disturbed those frequencies enough to completely destabilize magic. The muggle government used this knowledge to disrupt wards and capture the remaining resistance.”

Severus eyed his godson with a speculative glance. “What happened next?”

Draco answered, meeting his gaze with a stubborn tilt in his chin. “Individuals were separated based on blood, just like before. Those with muggle parents were invited back into the muggle community with minimal surveillance and investigation if they agreed to sacrifice their wands. Half-bloods with muggle parents who already had documentation in the muggle world were offered the same. Extremists who refused to submit were either killed or incarcerated in prisons lined with radioactive materials. The rest of us were sent to internment camps for “re-education” purposes. In reality, we were made to service muggles using carefully monitored magic.”

Severus could feel his frown deepen as he considered what his godson wasn’t saying. “Service?”

Draco’s scowl darkened dramatically. “I brewed potions. Others were not so lucky.”

Severus’ eyebrow raised in question.

“You don’t want to know.”

Severus nodded in consternation. “So how do I play into this?”

Draco’s scowl was back. “Obviously the last year in the Dark Lord’s reign needs to change. I suggested offing him before he is resurrected, but Granger says it is not that simple.”

Hermione glared at the blond. “Have you forgotten the man is immortal?”

“Only until we eliminate his horcruxes.”

“I am not going to kill Harry, Draco! For the last time!”

“So you are going to leave the rest of the Wizarding War to suffer because of your stupid, sentimental Gryffindor tendencies?”

“If you had to sacrifice your mother, would you?”

“Absolutely.”

“You’re a shite liar.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Please. So says the kettle.”

“Shut up. There has to be another way.”

“Your suggestion that we reason with him is insane, you realize. And if anything we do enables the Dark Lord to take over, we could hardly label our little trip a success.”

“I am not trying to help Riddle take over the world! I just thought we could curb his habit of muggle-baiting. And I still say you are underestimating the chance that a Pureblood might shoehorn into the position if we kill the man too early. There will be a power vacuum. Someone could take advantage of that.”

“And for the last time, your concerns are based off of conjecture and half-baked arithmantic equations. I have a right to be skeptical!”

“It’s not skepticism. You are paranoid and overly critical.”

“At least I’m not an insufferable, annoying bint.”

“Prick.”

“Bitch.”

“Arsehole.”

Severus interrupted them, his headache pounding from their rather adolescent argument, although even he could hear how different their interaction was compared to their current counterparts. None of the anger or revulsion, their familiarity and easy indulgence of each other could almost be mistaken for teasing. “I can see why I am needed. May I ask how you two found each other? If Draco was kept at an internment camp.”

Granger’s mouth twisted oddly. “I didn’t qualify for the same opportunity offered to other muggleborns. I oblivated my parents during the war and sent them to Australia with no memory of ever having me. So I had no one to vouch for me.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “But the little swot had already completed her A-levels and qualified for University. So she worked out a deal at the internment camp. They would let her leave if she agreed to monthly check-ups, and if she led a few of those ‘re-education’ classes the few times our facility was being evaluated by government officials.”

“So you met at an internment camp?”

They both nodded. Draco continued to speak. “We started to work out a plan to make changes on the brief occasions we saw each other. Mostly during meal times. And we continued contact after she left. She won over the Warden, who gave her visitation rights.”

Severus raised an eyebrow, not sure how to formulate his question, but Draco seemed to understand just the same.

His remark was sarcastic. “We were in love, didn’t you know.”

Granger actually looked a bit hurt at the comment. His godson noticed, and immediately looked contrite. “You know it’s not about that, Hermione. But what they granted any of us was hardly a relationship.”

Another unspoken question was soon answered. “Constant surveillance, Severus. And I do mean constant, forever watching us on their bloody little video screens. Certain distances had to be maintained, because Salazar forbid we ever get too ‘chummy’. There were even talks of mandated sterility before we left.”

Granger gave Draco a sharp look. “Was there really?” After Draco nodded, she started ranting her disapproval. “Of all the grossly inhumane suggestions-”

“Hermione.”

She was interrupted, and Severus was interested to see that she actually calmed down.

“Draco,” she stated instead, sounding rather lost. His godson responded by drawing the slight girl into his arms, and Severus was a little disturbed to see how they shuddered into each other’s embrace. They looked so… broken. Desperate. Needy. For two such strong-willed individuals, Severus did not like it at all.

They had let a lot slip in their argument, and the fact that they felt comfortable illustrating as such meant his true loyalties were uncovered at some point during the war. This needed to be considered. He re-evaluated their appearances, looking for an excuse to give time to himself in order to properly assess their situation. The heavy purple bags under their eyes and too-skinny appearances warred for his attention.

“Did they not feed you at these camps?”

Draco sneered. “They limited our meals at first in order to prevent resistance. Apparently starving men and women are less like to launch a revolt. After that, rations were cut due to hiccups in government funding.”

Severus could feel his fists tighten as he considered the ramifications of that treatment. “Before we decide anything, it is probably best you both have a hot meal and a full night of rest.”

Granger’s eyes immediately widened in panic and she loudly protested. “But we need to talk about this now! What if Dumbledore discovers we are here?! He could ruin everything!”

Severus pinched the top of his nose, feeling the anxiety build, tension forming in his forearms and between his shoulder blades. He _needed_ at least a few hours to think about everything. He needed to process this new information and reevaluate… everything.

“Go to the Room of Requirement. You’ll be safe and inaccessible for at least one night. I refuse to converse about these matters with either of you while you look dead on your feet.”

Draco was the first to acquiesce, probably recognizing the real reason for his insistence. He nodded. “We will come and visit after breakfast in order to coordinate our next steps.”

Severus gratefully nodded, and walked the couple to the door. He was about to recommend a strong disillusionment charm, but Granger had already pulled out her wand and was in the middle of casting a number of spells on their persons. He nodded in satisfaction as he evaluated each of them.

“Good night,” he finally told them, closing the door.

He looked back around at his quarters, and felt a new wave of exhaustion sweep through his body.

Perhaps he could allow himself a few hours of rest before he processed everything. Then he could figure out what information he still needed to ask, and how best to move forward.

The stress of everything threatened to overwhelm him for a moment, and he winced his eyes shut trying to remain in control. He breathed steadily.

He would figure this out.

Fuck.

* * *

To be continued...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How is my Severus? I wasn't quite sure how to write him in character... I might edit my attempt in the days to come. Thank you for reading!


End file.
